Boris, Congregational and Museum

 

                                                           Mail

It is no surprise to find Boris has accepted around £250,000 a month for lying in the 'Daily Mail.'  The 'Telegraph' or whoever will be owning the 'telegraph' soon, will be unhappy at this.  Of course the new owners might care little, and offer Boris the editors job and then the 'Daily Mail' will find reason to call the fat lazy, ungrateful coward, a fat lazy, ungrateful coward.  He will care not as long as someone pays him.

One report claims he has informed his people not to vote against the big vote on Monday, so he has a deal of some sort with Sunak.  But what would that deal involve, and why should anyone trust the untrustworthy rogue?  

Interestingly, it was pointed out that the Murdoch press said nothing much re Boris today, thus implying Rupert is looking elsewhere.  Murdoch is less loyal than Boris, so no chance of him working at the 'Times' any time soon. 

I just want him far away, preferably in jail, and soon all the other corrupt rogues can be following him into Pentonville!

The heat has been hot, but the furthest I have been remains the Supermarkets.  However, yesterday  I slogged it up the road to the large Co-op store in search of s suitable gift for the two youngest.  Lots of stuff but nothing suitable!  Ain't life grand!  Therefore I decided to try the kids toys in the museum.  On the way I passed the wife of the Congregational minister.  Sadly he had died in March and I never knew.  I was so sad about this as I had known them for many years.  Congregational churches, as you know, are owned by the congregation, and the problem here was the age of the people.  The minister over the years had buried most of them, and just before Covid struck only around eight members were left.  Aged people, Authorised Version bible, poor music, and this will not attract young folk.  The end was inevitable, and now this church, standing here for over almost 400 years, will soon begin to fall apart if a decision is not made for the future.  It looks like they will have to sell the building to another church in need.  It is a great building with semi circular seating, raised platform, room for development and its own graveyard, where all the previous ministers now lie.  The poor widow is of course cut up, they had been married over 50 years and very close.  The building has recently replaced the lead stolen ate at night, they stole the lead from the roof of the bank also, and this cost £11,000 to replace!  

Anyway, somewhat disheartened, I plodded round to the shop.  There the young assistant was keen on assisting me, to get me out of the shop again, she knows me well, and soon she had taken many pieces of gold from me and sent me on my way.  It costs a fortune just to browse in that museum these days.  

Cold, Grave Birds

We awoke to temperatures of minus 1c this morning.  The field opposite had a white sheen of frozen dew, the condensation covered the windows, and while the heating was on the moment I opened the rear window I quickly closed it again!  Too much at 7:30 in the morning!  I wished to rise early and search one particular shop before the crowds gather.  I took the long way round and popped into the graveyard behind the old Congregational Church in the hope of some sunshine glinting on the frost.  I was in time for the birds seeking nourishment, though they insisted on flitting around quickly making it difficult to picture them.  This was the best I could manage, the Robin sitting on the end of a grave deciding whether or not to leap down to the cold grass below.  I caught him just as he leapt behind the solid grave.  This looks like one designed to keep graverobbers out.  Before medical science was better organised medical students would acquire bodies for research, often fresh from graves.  The Ghouls would strike at night, which is why some cemeteries employed guards during the dark hours, and dig up the body and sell to a 'doctor.'  Thus many graves have iron fences, brick walls, or solid brick tombs atop them.  Today, these gather ivy and moss and are welcome perches for the birds of the district.

I searched the shop, every shelf, up and down, all along, and back again.  Naturally what I wanted was not on offer.  The only other likely place was not likely either.  Aint life grand?   Instead, I bought chicken bits from the local butcher, and listened while the girl explained to another customer about the lack of turkeys this Christmas.  With 'Bird Flu' present, and an incompetent government dumping Brexit on the nation, the farming world has been suffering badly off late.  "Turkeys," she said, "Might be available, but if so they will cost an arm and a leg!"  This bothers me not, I eat any old thing at Christmas, but for women like the customer this is important, though not important enough to break the bank.  No reason for turkey at Christmas anyway, just be grateful to have something to eat, and heat on which to cook it!

Is this a Rook or a Crow?  Rooks are usually in a group, Crows individual, and the mob we have around here tend to hang around in two's and three's, so I never know if they are Rooks or Crows.  Maybe they do not know this either?  My beautiful, highly intelligent, and nature loving great niece claims it is a Crow, and she should know.  So I am going with that.  While the Robin was dancing about below, this man sat high up in the tree planted at a graveside many years ago.  He appears untroubled by the cold, well fed, and well able to look after himself.  

How about a blurry, cold, Blue Tit?  Lots of them around here.  Clearly such places, usually quiet, are ideal for wildlife.  Small though it is there are many birds, and a squirrel took off as I approached and sped up a tree into the wilderness there.  I suspect the only thing they fear, apart from one another, are the kids coming out of the church hall.  A kinder garden takes place there, and the approach of toddlers and mums would scare anyone.

 

And Jesus said "...

 

A Breeze in the Graveyard

Lies!  All lies! These weather people lie!  

'Gentle breeze' they say as the wind from the north hammers my window.  Today the wind has dropped but still comes from the north, and they call it 'gentle?' 

Can we sue?

So, I must close my windows tight tonight, they promise 'gentle breeze' and 'clear sky,' so I will look out for high winds and rain storms.

I braved the 'breeze' while what sun we found came out today and crossed over to the graveyard.  

I find it so cheery...

The church has stood here since the 1700s but is based on a congregation that unlawfully met many years before this.  Not far up the road a farmer, John English, let people congregate on Sundays in his barn to hear the word of God according to biblical fashion.  This when Charles II was King and it was illegal not to be in a CoE church at the time.  Bishop William Laud, a man who leant heavily towards the Kings way of operating, dealt savagely with any who opposed his authority.  However, that said, preachers came to the barn to preach, including, it is said, John Bunyan, and out of the two towns population of around 5000 souls some 800 met at the barn to worship God properly in spite of the fear.  When the worst was past, the congregation continued to grow, and a new building was erected, in the 1800s this new one took its place.  A division did occur, it frequently does in churches, and from the gathering two churches arose in the town, a Baptist, which survives, and this one taking the title name as 'Congregational.'  This church survives with a few members, LockDown has not helped the ageing gathering, and work is now being done on the roof.  I suspect someone has nicked all the lead from there!  Hopefully the church will continue, 400 years of service ought not to end like this, Bishop Laud himself would not approve, especially after his head was removed from his shoulders by the puritans.

Not unusually some make use of the ground when others have gone.  What might be called 'the less fortunate' gather at nights, some sleeping here, and clearly leave their lunch tins behind them.  This tends to spoil such places and not all who attend accept the help they have been offered.

 

I took a couple of shots on my new Canon and headed back home for feeding time.  The breeze is still breezing, 'gently,' and the temperature is dropping, not so gently.  It was good to be photographing things badly.  Hopefully we will get out and about soon.

 

Double Dealing with Local History

Amazon

An excellent book!  Well worth a read.  I was given this a couple of ears ago and was put off reading it because I had ploughed my way through Max Hastings book 'The Secret War.'  That book, while interesting, takes a lot more reading than this one does.
Outside of the MI5 & MI6 government individuals mentioned the main stars are the intriguing, if not unbalanced, personnel who put their lives on the line as double crossing agents during the Second World War.  A Peruvian lass who liked to gamble, a Pole who wished to rule, a French woman who almost blew it when her dog was killed and a Spanish chicken farmer and a Serbian who like the woman.  All these turned into excellent double agents.  Many Germans who came into the country as spies had no intentions of wearing a uniform and getting bullied, pushed around and shot, spying was an easy out.  A few who landed were not up to the double agent game and were jailed, some too pro Nazi were executed, these few however played a big part in the final victory especially their work concerning D-Day 1944.
The agents completely fooled the German intelligence services.  Not only were they believed long after the war by some but medals were awarded by the Reich and an Iron Cross or two, and large amounts of cash, reached the spies in the UK.  Wars are won and lost on intelligence, and as we all now 'Military Intelligence' is often questioned by the troops at the sharp end.   
This is a fast moving book,well written with many details on the contacts between spies and their masters both at home and abroad.  The details are clear, the stories intriguing and by the end the biggest lie of all, that General Patton was going to land an army at the Pas de Calais, succeeded in forcing all the enemy generals to keep that area well protected for over a month, during which time the real invasion at Normandy has successfully taken place and began the move up north.  his lie went right to the top of the Reich with Adolf himself satisfied with his successful spies, even after the invasion was under way.
The war over they returned to he real world.  Some more successfully and happily than others.  Their tales are told here.  This is a book well worth a read, especially if you wish to take up spying, allowing for the fact that amongst the operatives aiding the lies to the Germans were men who were also sending all the information into Mr Stalin at the Kremlin.  It is often easier to find foreign spies than those amongst you.

Muscle aches tomorrow.  For no good reason I suddenly rose and cleaned the fridge this afternoon. This is one of the many 'to do' jobs that ought to be ignored.  Instead I got up and did it!  I think the strain of Lock Down is having an affect.

Indeed in these past few days the strain has shown.  My mind was very dull, confusion as to what to do, lack of ability to enjoy anything, and little of interest in anything available was becoming the norm.  Then this morning I came across this picture I took some time ago.  
Edward and Eliza Wicks have lain in the graveyard behind the Congregational Church in Bocking End for 140 years without troubling anyone.  I just thought this morning I might have a look to see if they were important.    It appears he may not have been important but he would have been known in the town, he was an Inland Revenue Officer.   Moving from London, being born in Holborn, he made his way to Castle Hedingham for a while and then moved into Braintree, not far from here.  There again at that time everything was not far from here.
In spite of being born in 1812 he was not 'Baptised' into the Holborn Church until 1836 when he would have been 24.  I wonder if he had found a woman and wished to marry her there?  Certainly he had a first born only three years later and that is Staffordshire where he must have moved to gain the money to keep the wife.  Two other children followed there before coming into the large village of Castle Hedingham and what a place that would be for a child to grow up at that time!  Of course schooling would be forced upon them, and that would spoil the fun but it would enable them to benefit greatly as the Victorian economy grew in the middle of the century.  Braintree may have appeared 'bustling' in comparison with previous homes but it would still be suitable for the kids.

Living in this small two up and two down house, with no piped water until 1861 and then only if you could afford the 1/6d weekly, and with five children most of the time makes you wonder how they survived.  Consider the females fussing, consider the young child, there is always one, consider the washing, consider the vast dresses filling the room, consider marrying the girls off to the first tender approach.  That however did not appear to work.  Still four of them with the parents in 1871.
The wife Eliza dies in 1875, Edward follows in 1878 aged 66.  Being buried in this graveyard indicates they attending this rebellious fellowship regularly rather than St Michaels the Anglican Parish Church.  Indeed I think that was in rather a poor state at this time, Essex rebels remember their loyalty to Parliament under Cromwell and may even in the 19th century have avoided the church.
The Wicks story is not going to make news, they may have made friends, maybe not if the girls were still unmarried in their 20's.  We will never know.  The name is common in Essex, I would trace the family but really canny be bothered now, and I am thinking of visiting Tesco for bread.  However, this little study refreshed my stale mind wonderfully.  I needed it if you didn't.

Thursday Cogitation

The tenth of January twenty nineteen, yet another year has almost finished before I have got over Christmas, and that itself appears far in the past!   Staring out into the gloom does not cheer me early in my morning, neither does Radio 3 cheer as it ought this morning, the wrong choice of music for me.  I wish for something more cheery, ah, Brandenburg Concerto's, that's better, I need something cheery as in a minute the news will appear bringing tales of Brexit, squabbles in parliament and little encouraging me to go out and meet the world.  The world itself is gray and chilly, the people wrapped up, gloved and woolly hatted as if the Antarctic was on their minds rather than Tesco, only young girls heading to college dress skimpily to attract the strange creatures attending them, tardily attired males who consider themselves 'trendy' while looking, as all youths do in every generation, a mess.

My mood might be affected by the pile of paper lying beside me.  This contains information regarding the graves in the Bocking End Congregational Church graveyard.  This has been in use so long many of the tombs are now unreadable and others soon to be similar sadly.  However I checked up some of the names and was struck by how much many achieved, at least in child rearing, and how quickly their life had passed, life is much shorter than we realise, and only after fifty do we realise we are next!  The age span of the names is also great, one church minister was serving the church there for nigh on fifty years, greeting many when they entered the world and burying them around him when they left, while others failed to reach five years in their Victorian life.  Many women lie there dying in their twenties and thirties, childbirth often the cause.
Others appear to have been successful in business, a builder married the girl next door, began as a carpenter, became a builder, then a master builder and eventually died in what I presume to be a house he himself built in one of the more prestigious streets.  Today that house will cost well over half a million, possibly much more, it is an outstanding building!  His other buildings will stand all around probably for many years yet.
I sometimes wonder how people survived the physically tough eras in the past.  Walking was the most common form of travel until railways appeared, and then we would not venture far unless we sought a new life or had a public day off.  Medicine was rare, mostly old wives tales and experiments, until the mid Victorian days when ether arrived operations were rather drastic, germs were not discovered until much later and sickness was dangerous.  Hard labour, poor wages, poor prospects, even though life improved as the century came to an end, in comparison to today the opportunities had to be fought for and life was strewn with difficulties.  We have it so much easier and I am aware of many faults and difficulties we all face today. 

Our next exhibition reflects greatly on one of the large businesses that once employed thousands of townsfolks, Crittall Windows.  By the end of the 19th century Courtaulds Mills, Lake and Elliott and Crittall's employed thousands here, all were decent employers and workers happily remained employed at these companies for most of heir working days.  All paid decent wages, good working conditions and social clubs and events.  Crittalls had a large social club almost opposite their extensive factory, now all gone and replaced by housing, and paid good wages with excellent conditions for the time.  During the Great War they replaced men who had gone off to serve with women paying the same wages and prepared 18lb shells for the war.  One of the Crittalls built the small town of 'Silver End' around one of his factories for the workers, social clubs, parks, shops etc all available in a modernistic setting.  While few of the early settlers remain, most must have passed away by now, the village is still clearly well laid out although the benefactor 'feel' may now have long gone.  If only our millionaires today acted like this towards their people?  I suppose they have no contact with workers and therefore have no idea what the workers lives are like, politicians today mostly failing to have ever 'worked' having always been politically minded.  They are indeed far from us all.  The Crittalls however knew their people and this exhibition will show oil paintings made by the company of workers at all levels from shop floor to boardroom.  These were made in the 20's and at least one person I have met has a granddad who is among those portrayed by the artist (whoever he was).  This ought to being in the public, half the town worked there or knew some family member who did, and it will run on until the new year to allow schools a chance to bring the kids in and learn about the towns past.  
No-one paints portraits of their workers today.

 

Bored Saturday

Bored! 
Cold and gray, and so is the weather, so I sat in waiting for the postman bringing a book.  This book is for another but would be too big for the letterbox, so I waited.  Checking later I found a card telling me he had left it at another flat!  I was in!  Why not knock loud?  Bah!!!  This is a good postman, I wonder what the bad would do?  Tsk!
Having stored the book I checked the football.  Manchester United squad players against failing Reading, this will be good eh?  No it was not, as expected Man Utd won easily.  Now I watch Blackpool, with a detested chairman who's fans refuse to enter the ground.  Therefore their poor team is against Arsenals squad players who ought to win easily with their fans outnumbering the home crowd.  The rich maniac who owns the club sits above watching while the club falls apart.  Why do the authorities allow such situations to develop?  As expected the game is a s dull as my day.

However while printing a leaflet I discovered I had no black ink left.  The ink world is a con!  Having bought on the cheap several twinned packs off Black ink and coloured ink I now find I have three coloured inks lying awaiting a place and no black!  This led to venturing out into the chill wind.  
As I passed the Congregational Church I noticed the door slightly ajar.  This was interesting!  Rare to see the door ajar at any time so I took a look around the outside to check if someone was working there, none to be seen, just as I was debating entering the ministers wife, who I know, came out.  This saved me from entering seeking burglars and instead finding and chatting to for a while the leaders of this now small congregation.
Having worked there for over 20 years the man has built up a decent congregation, sadly of aged people, most of these have now dropped off and only a handful remain.  This is sad as the church grew out of the 1600's puritan revival and started in a barn a hundred yards up the road despite opposition from Charles the first who demanded people attend the parish church.  Many were threatened with jail, many fled to the new world, others remained until Charles II allowed them some degree of freedom.  A building has stood here for around three hundred years even allowing for half the congregation to leave and begin anew Baptist church over the road.  This large building, dim with n lights on when I was in there, is an ideal church building.  Pews sit at a circular angle facing the front and having always been well kept it appears old but (apart from heating) is ideal for proper church services.  It would be a great shame if such a church were to die after so long a witness.  However almost all churches in the town are decent ones, the younger element do not like the style of service, and the minister and his wife at 77 years of age will not be changing that any time soon.  All this means appropriate persons have other churches to join and this one suffers now. This rubbish football is more interesting but the result is clear...

Cemetery

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While some find cemeteries eerie places I tend to find them interesting for a variety of reasons. This morning the sun shone, a Blue Tit (or was it two?) hustled back and forward from a very small hole in the wall as it fed the chicks inside. two local village dog walkers ignored me from a distance and I was left to enjoy the sunshine and blue sky. Peace and quiet in such places gives the opportunity to think.  This small churchyard, with once again a church comprised of millions of red bricks, contains many graves of the wealthier sort from Victorian and Edwardian times. You could tell by the bricked in tombs and iron gates placed there to stop grave robbers removing the corpse, only the rich could afford these. These are actually more for show than effectiveness as I suspect a grave robber wants a fresh corpse, not one weeks old. What is less obvious is the part of the graveyard where the poor were buried, this is unmarked, and who knows how many were laid therein?  For a while I mused over one unreadable stone, most were sadly, guarded by a low iron railing, as to the day of this funeral around a hundred years or so ago. Who was he/she? What was the weather? I could imagine the elaborate Victorian hearse, drawn by two horses (there is at least one still in use around here), the mourners gathered around, the vicar and the whole performance. I wondered if anybody today in this village knows who he is?   

Several memorials, such as the iron one seen below, contain the name 'Richardson.' It appears likely that family will have relatives still around here. However once the third generation pass on who can remember the deeds of those who lie here? Whether they were good or bad, whether they managed to contribute anything positive, are lost to us now.  So many lives and so many stories. These iron memorials abound around here. Many are like this round one, containing names and details, now difficult to read, with others being small crosses. I wonder if this a local idea? I have not seen them elsewhere. 

The setting, when the sun shines, is lovely indeed. The sun, the blue sky, the trees covered in birds and bees, and the green fields behind with growing crops. Another small gate leads to the fields and is irresistible to anyone with a camera! The only disappointment remains the fear of theft that locks all church doors around here. A wise precaution but a nuisance just the same.

  

 
It was as I was having a last look around I heard the singing. No-one was to be seen, all was quiet and peaceful. Birds flitted through the trees and a bumble bee buzzed around flowers left at a grave when I heard the song.

"Come and join us

 Come and join us"

 

I got on the bike and decided I had finished my exercise for today. I got home much quicker than I had got here......

 

 

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Sunday Evening and Nothing to Say

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Sunday evening and I have nothing to say so here is a picture of a door. 'A' used to like picturing doors, although I am not sure if this is one that would receive her consideration!  That lass tended to go for doors on ageing castles, châteaus and cathedrals. This is just an unused door on what is now a church with too small a membership to require more than one entrance, and this side door that once led to the gallery has not been in use for many a day.  The minister, a wee man from Glasgow, well past his 70th birthday, is a man who knows his God and continues to follow his calling. A grand speaker and canny man. His wife is what makes him what he is. The Bocking End Congregational Church once had several hundred attending, today there may have been less than thirty, especially as many are older than the minister, he has buried two thirds of his congregation since arriving 20 years ago! They are good people but the fabric is like me, a bit run down.

My empty, tired mind has nothing else to say. Many regard this as a good thing.....


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